Searching, Searching
by toggledog
Summary: Set during 'Skyfall'. While Bond and M go into hiding, Silva hijack's Mallory's computer. If his taunts are true, then Q may be in danger.
1. Chapter 1

AN- fixed up a minor error. It seems Mallory can't count! Lol

Mallory stepped back into his office, gently shutting the door behind himself. He had made his choice. Or rather, M had made it for him. When it came to what was, essentially, an interrogation, he had been very eager to hear her thoughts. She did not disappoint. He did understand her 'interrogator's' stance. The accountability of the spy agency to the public (the very people it is meant to be protecting), should always be at the forefront of all of its actions. However, as M clearly stated, this is not always possible, particularly of an agency that 'worked in the shadows'.

Being shot in the arm made the conflict a little clearer. He would balance, as best he could, the public's knowledge against the needs of the agency. Ultimately, however, his priority was now with the men and women of the agency. Hence, with no regret, he urged Q to (against protocol) provide an electronic trace for Bond and M, that only Silva could follow.

His instinct, always the most persistent of masters, urged him to check his laptop. Ridiculous, he inwardly scoffed. It would be impossible for Silva to infiltrate my laptop. The most stringent of security measures protect it.

He walked to the oak cabinet to the left of the room and took out the crystal whiskey decanter, using his good hand to pour himself a goodish amount. As he took a sip, he ignored the logic that stabbed at his denial, determined to cut through. Silva had been able to outsmart the whole of the organization. He had managed to outwit Q, who had invented the very firewalls that protected their most personal of information. To Silva, decrypting a laptop would be as difficult as taking a very long nap (in an aerodynamically designed bed adjusted to the height and weight of the rester, to attain maximum comfort.)

He took another swig of the alcohol and turned his attention to the grey compact machine sitting amongst the clutter on his desk. Shaking his head at his perceived ridiculousness, he returned to his desk and sat down in his leather chair, pressing the small button to the upper left of the laptop to turn it on. As it geared up to his home page, he expected to see the usual windows icons over the background desktop photo of his wife and son, Henry.

The entire screen was blank, but for six words, written in black Times New Roman font.

Were you sexually tortured when captured?

Mallory wasn't sure how to process these words. Clearly, they referred to his time as a prisoner of the IRA. His mind went to the very early years of his involvement with the British army. Part of the training included how to handle oneself in all situations. This included sexual torture.

The instructor had been a tough, no nonsense woman that the (at the time) single Mallory was desperate to get into the bed of.

"To all the men who think this doesn't apply to them, I'm going to be very blunt. Sexual torture is not limited to women. Indeed, some capturers deliberately assaulted male captives, in a direct attempt to emasculate them."

The ongoing talk about scenarios involving sexual torture and how to deal with it, was sufficient enough to cure Mallory of his 'crush'.

Seeing as you are so interested, Mallory thought. The answer is no. The psychological and physical torture was scarring enough, as it was. Why the interest, anyway?

Of course, he was well aware that Silva's past involved capture and torture as well. He felt an odd clenching of his stomach, as though a turnkey was slowly turning, pulling the contents tighter and tighter inwards. Perhaps this was the man's way of reaching out to him, of revealing something of himself. If this was true, Mallory didn't want the responsibility. He didn't think of himself as a coward. However, taking accountability for the reprehensible treatment of a traitor (who had been let down by his own people, but a traitor, nevertheless) was far beyond what he was willing to deal with.

He considered what action to take. Bond and M clearly had a plan to attempt to thwart this man, outwit him in his own game. Should he simply discount the ravings on his laptop, and allow the plan to continue forward? Who to trust with this new information?

A new set of words appeared on the screen before him, replacing the first six.

I like the new Q

These words baffled Mallory more than the previous ones. The turnkey untwisted, replaced by burning anger. Wasn't this madman going after M? Why was he wasting time playing games? Within a few seconds, as though in answer, new words appeared.

Clearly not as smart as me but he's very pretty.

Mallory swallowed, suddenly feeling uneasy. Not exactly threatening words by themselves, but taken in conjunction with the first statement about sexual torture… yes, Mallory felt that tightening of the stomach again. Perhaps making Mallory feel this unease was Silva's plan. Threats and sexual innuendo to-

Boys as pretty as that should be careful. Bad things happen to such pretty boys…

Son of a bitch! Mallory no longer felt uneasy. The anger was back again. Good, now he felt more in control.

If Bond doesn't kill you, I'll make sure I do you sick son of a bitch!

Four pictures suddenly appeared on the screen. He had always hated the one of himself. It was a most unflattering angle. Bond was far better looking in reality than he looked in his photo. Q and M's were rather photogenic.

Beside each of the four photos were four addresses. One was Bond's current hotel room. The other three were very current indeed.

Mallory thought of his wife, of his boy. He slammed the whiskey down and hastily reached for the telephone.

Tbc…


	2. Chapter 2

AN- Thanks for all the reviews! I'm not sure how old Q is meant to be in the film, so I've made him close to Ben Whishaw's true age. Enjoy!

When James arrived back at HQ, much to his relief, Mallory accosted him and whisked him past the other obviously dazed agents, to an empty debriefing room. As Mallory locked the door behind them, James moved to the circular table in the centre, pulled out a chair and collapsed into it. He wanted nothing more than to go back to his hotel room and take a nice long shower, to try wash away the horrors and torment of the evening. Then to perhaps follow it up with a martini. No, something stronger. A whiskey. Or four. However, he knew protocol. On the way back to HQ, he had detailed the events leading up to M's death. He would now have to reexplain the events to Mallory, and then to who knew how many others.

Mallory sighed and pulled a chair up to face him.

"Tell me what happened?" His tone was surprisingly soft.

As James spoke, he felt strangely removed from the situation. It was as though he was outside of himself, watching this being of flesh and blood and sweat and angst operate his larynx and tongue and lips to form words. He got to the odd stand off in the Church between Silva's men and him and couldn't help but smile a little. If the situation hadn't been so intense, he would have found it rather amusing indeed. The two left of Silva's goons came into the church with guns raised. James and Kincade also raised their guns. For a moment, no one spoke. James was bloodied. He was tired. He'd been through too bloody much. What's more, the woman he had completely failed to protect lay dead in his arms.

"Why don't we just call a truce? You collect your body. We'll keep ours. And both of us will be on our way."

For a moment, the two men had looked to each other, then the guns lowered, and they rushed to Silva.

"He was definitely dead?" Mallory brought him back to the present.

James' mouth twisted up into a half smile. "A knife to the back usually does the trick."

In the past, he would have found Mallory's question somewhat amusing. Now, he simply felt numb. His mind flashed on M's lifeless eyes staring up at him.

No. Not now.

He forcibly banished it away.

"So they just picked up the body and left?"

James nodded.

"And that was the last you saw of them? Because I must tell you, Bond, that MI6 are already in the area and they haven't found any trace of Silva or the men."

James shrugged a little. "Maybe they buried him, then buried themselves as well." He laughed. For a moment, Mallory's expression turned to concern, before righting itself to professional sternness, once more.

"You look exhausted. How about we continue this in the morning?"

"What about protocols?"

Mallory shrugged. "A very fine woman has been murdered. I think we need a bit of time to collect ourselves, before continuing."

At last, an emotion crept into Bond's weary body; pleasant surprise. He decided that he liked this man.

"There is one more thing, of great importance. Silva hacked my laptop and revealed personal addresses of me, M, and Q, as well as your hotel."

James felt too apathetic to feign surprise.

"Obviously you can't go back to your hotel room. One of our first priorities will be finding out if he gave this information to anyone else."

"Certainly." James concurred.

"I have booked you a suite at the Empress on Orchard. Paid for by cash, of course."

"How generous of you."

Both were silent a long moment.

"Am I excused?"

His mind went to Kincade. He had taken him with him back to London and told him to stand in front of the HQ building. It seemed only fair. He had, after all, destroyed the house that the games keeper both lived and worked in.

"There is one more thing."

"Another one more thing?" James teased.

Mallory's face went through a variety of expressions. James could sense that he was uncomfortable with the question he was about to ask.

"You were captured by Silva. I read the report just before you arrived here. I understand there was a sexual component to his interrogation?"

Oh that…

"I suspect it was a way of trying to provoke me. It didn't work. Nothing serious. Just a bit of a feel up, that's all."

Mallory's expression signaled to James that he didn't believe that at all. Another emotion crept around the edges of his numbed shock. This one anger. Why was Mallory even bringing that up?

A woman died tonight. You were the one meant to be protecting her. But let's not talk abut that. Let's talk about the sociopath who got his jollies from essentially sexually harassing you.

He had played it the only way he knew how- by feigning amused disinterest. He figured that if he showed any fear or disgust at what Silva was doing, it would be an invitation for the madman to go even further.

Mallory's expression was of a man considering his next words. Just get to the damn point! James thought.

"When Silva hijacked my laptop, he wrote some, rather distressing things on my screen. I have yet to show Q… with Silva dead, perhaps it doesn't mean anything."

"Show me." James urged.

Mallory reached to his bag by his leg and pulled out his laptop. He took it out of his case and opened it.

"It appears to be stuck on the last screen."

He switched the laptop on. James stared at the words on the screen. He felt the whisper of Silva's hands on his thighs and suppressed an inward shudder.

Boys as pretty as that should be careful. Bad things happen to such pretty boys…

"He's referring to Q. The sentence before this one was that he likes Q." Mallory grinned without humour. "He also asked if my capture in Ireland had involved sexual torture."

"He's dead." James frowned. "I put a knife in his back. I suspect that he was attempting to phase you."

Mallory turned off his computer and started put it back in its cover and into his bag. "I certainly considered that. But why mention Q? Why not directly threaten me? Surely that would have more effect, if 'phasing me' was his plan. Moreover, why not directly threaten my family? That would make even more sense."

"I'm truly glad you decided to work on our side of the law." James quipped.

"I would appreciate us keeping this a secret between us, for now." Mallory replaced his laptop in his bag. "There are other, more pressing matters."

"Agreed."

####

James stepped out the front of the building and was rather surprised to see Kincade and Q talking, by the edge of the road. Away from his computers and technology, Q had a distinct awkward jerkiness to his movements. Bond moved further forward to them.

"No, that's not… my area." Q said.

"Oh! No disrespect meant-"

"What I meant to say is… I don't have time for a girlfriend…. Or a boyfriend."

Now James understood the reason for Q's clear discomfort.

"Kincade!"

Both turned to face him. Q's face complexion now slightly pink.

"We're going to the Empress on Orchard."

"I know. Q here told me. That's where he's heading too."

"Fine. He can follow." At that point, James didn't care where Q went.

They walked a little further up the street. No car, no house. Messed up bad. Damn, he needed a drink. Possibly a nice warm body to take his mind off his current torment.

James put his hand out to hail a taxi.

"What was that about?"

"Just making conversation." Kincade said.

###

"I'll take the single bed." Kincade gestured to the cot to the far left of the room. James shrugged. He wasn't exactly thrilled to be sharing the room with Kincade. But the hotel was full and James didn't have the heart to send him elsewhere. (Though he was tempted to tell him to bunk in with Q, seeing as they seemed to be getting along so well.)

"He seems a nice young man." Kincade said, as he took off his shoes and socks.

"Who?"

"Q."

"He's just a kid." James said.

"Actually, he's thirty. He told me. See James, only ten years younger than you."

James stopped in his route to the shower. "What exactly was that about?"

"Like I said. Conversation. It seems you both have a lot in common. Although clearly some things, he's more open about than you are." He paused. "I just want you to be happy, James. I don't care who it's with."

He's suggesting it. He's actually suggesting it!

"I'm taking a shower." James said. "I still have M's blood on me."

He went into the shower room and closed the door before Kincade could respond.

Tbc…


	3. Chapter 3

"So, 007," Mallory threw the folder on the desk between them, "Lots to be done. Are you ready to go back to work?"

James only had one answer. Sure, the organization had been in utter chaos the week following M's death. There was talk of forcing retirement on Bond, of exposing the entire sorry incident. In the end, the government decided to do what it did best- cover the incident up and continue on as normal. According to the media, an unknown intruder killed M in her home. The fire at James' family home was a separate incident- a squatter getting a little too overzealous with their fire. Any reporter with half a brain could make the connection, but, somehow, James was sure they wouldn't.

M was gone. James was slowly working through the shock towards a very pained reality. A very classy lady with a biting wit, and razor intelligence (who James didn't deny he hadn't fantasized about shooting at least once in his career) now reduced to a pile of ashes in a box.

Yes, there was only one answer. The answer the former M would want him to give.

"With pleasure, M. With pleasure."

The other man smiled at him, picking up the folder and handing it over.

"We have good intelligence that a terrorist attack is being planned in Shanghai. They intend to detonate a car bomb in a public area."

James flicked the file open, scanning the various photos and surveillance reports.

"We have details on a multinational cell in the district of Shanghai. You are to infiltrate the cell and find the details of the attack."

"As easy as that." James' mouth twisted into a half smile.

"We already have a man inside. We just need back up. You are booked on a 3.05 flight to Shanghai, under the name John Jeffries. Q will give you the rest of the information you need."

At the mention of the genius' name, James' mouth twisted down into a pout. "So it's true then. Your addresses aren't compromised?"

"It appears that Silva's games died with him. For which I say good riddance." Mallory said, in a tone that told James that the matter was now closed.

###

After Q's colleagues told him that the young man was already waiting in the car, James rushed to the front of the building, not bothering to take out his umbrella, as he dashed through the driving rain to the vehicle. He opened the door and slid inside. As soon as he closed it shut, the vehicle smoothly pulled away from the side of the road.

"I plan to go to Tahiti on my next holiday. Can't stand this bloody weather." Q remarked.

"I thought you were scared of flying."

A slight smile touched his lips. "There is such a thing as cruises."

James had a sudden image of Q lying on a banana lounge sipping a cocktail piled with fruit. It was an amusing thought.

"So… your new 'job'…" As Q started to explain the intricacies of the terrorist cell, James thought back to seeing him converse with Kincade. There had been a definite awkwardness there. Now, it had all evaporated. Here, in front of him was a confident, one could say cocky young man.

"Am I speaking in another language?"

"Excuse me?"

"I appeared to have lost you."

James repeated Q's words.

"Good boy." Q grinned.

"Why are you coming to the airport with me? You could have told me all this back at HQ."

"Then I would have not had this time alone with you."

Q looked him in the eyes. For a moment, James felt something move between them, a kind of charge. He felt it through his entire body, culminating in one particular area.

Well well this was interesting.

James could not recall the last time he'd felt this, while with a man. It had been a while since he'd partaken. The way he saw it, he liked women but didn't mind the occasional pretty man, like peanut brittle ice-cream over the usual chocolate. Different but equally as tasty.

He looked at Q's lips, so tantalizingly close. The fey features. Pretty… but masculine… so pretty…

His mind suddenly flashed on the words Silva had written on Mallory's computer, and felt his lust dissolve, replaced by an ugly animosity.

He's dead. Knife in the back, remember?

For a moment, Q's eyes flashed confused hurt, before he quickly looked away. He reached under his seat, pulling out a small black box and handing it to James.

"What's in lucky box number two?" James mused.

He opened it up…inside was another pistol and radio, as well as two small circular devices.

"These are very long range bugs. When you arrive at the safe house, plant them on the leader. They will work."

James closed the box and shook his head, amazed by the ingenuity.

The vehicle slid to a stop. For a moment, both looked at each other.

"Good luck, Bond." Q said, the playful teasing in his voice now gone.

James nodded and retreated from the car.

###

As the vehicle pulled away from the kerb, Q watched the blond figure move, with cat like grace, into the glass doors of the airport. He wound up the window and sat back in his seat, attempting to cognize what had just happened. Q was the first to admit that technological problems were far more preferable for him to solve, than anything to do with relationships. Sure, he considered James to be a very handsome man. But he had never thought it would go beyond that. However, there had been a moment before…

No, he must be wrong. He had been wrong before. James was into women, solely women.

Better not to think about it. Better to…

The shield between the front and back seats going down interrupted his musings. He didn't recognize the driver as being an agent. The man in the passenger seat, holding the gun, however, was all too recognizable.

"Impossible."

"No… just improbable." The man grinned.

Q quickly considered the lock and ruled it out as being electronic. He swiftly undid his seatbelt and reached his foot up to kick at the glass window.

"I wouldn't do that. This is a nice car and I don't want to get the window damaged. Please don't make me shoot you."

Ok, ok… you've been trained for this. You just need to find out what he needs.

"Alright." Q turned back to face the man. "Just tell me what you want and I'll accede."

"Good, we have cooperation."

Q tried to calm down his racing heart, his shaking hands. This couldn't be happening. He tried to think what James Bond would do, in this situation.

Bond…Bond said he had killed this man!

As though reading his thoughts, Silva said, "He almost did. I had a collapsed lung, lost a lot of blood. Luckily, one of my men was a trained medic. They took me as far from the Church as possible, then he managed to fix me up as best he could, before our second helicopter came and picked me up, took me to a hospital in Ireland… under a false name, of course. Bond was still in the Church, I'm assuming weeping over that dead woman. I could have killed him, then and there. But no… too easy."

"What do you want with me?"

Silva's lips curled up in a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "I'm sorry, pretty but I need bait. Now, we're going to a place. Not too far. Shouldn't be hard for even a numbskull like Bond to find."

Pretty… Q felt his stomach twist at the thought of Silva finding him attractive.

"But Bond was just in the car! Why didn't you just grab him then?"

"Now, that would be too easy! I want it to be at least a challenge for him. Also, I like the idea of him realizing I was barely centimeters away from him, and he didn't even know it. It will drive him mad!" He laughed and then swiftly turned sober once more. "Here are two things that are going to happen. I will kill James Bond. But first I will make him suffer. The other thing is I will have sex with you."

Q felt the odd sensation of all of his innards dropping into his abdomen.

"Excuse me?"

"I wish to fuck you. Whether or not you end up needing intensive explorative surgery depends on how well you cooperate."

Oh god…

Q's vast mind went through everything he had learnt in training, in terms of dealing with being kidnapped. Feeling something cold on his cheeks, he put his hand up to his face, surprised to feel tears.

No, no I can't…ok calm down. You can handle this.

He took a few deep breaths, in an attempt to calm his racing heart.

"You were kidnapped in China. They did it to you, didn't they? The assaulted you in that way."

"Nice try, pretty. But no. Not straight sex, anyway. Sure, they electrocuted my genitals. Does that count?"

"Why? Why me?"

Silva shrugged. "Why not?"

For a moment, Q felt too aghast to answer. "Because I don't want to! Please, don't do this. What they did to you was wrong. Don't lower yourself to their level. You're no rapist. You know that's not what you are!"

All expression left the face, replaced with a chilling stare. "You know nothing about me. Now I want you to shut up right now, or I'll shoot you in the face and fuck your corpse!"

Q heard shaky, almost sob like breaths. It took a moment to realize that they were his own. He had never felt more powerless. He could not even cease the tremble in his body that had now moved from his hands to his entire arms and legs.

"It's ok…Sh… It's ok…" Silva crooned, a slight, almost paternal smile playing at his lips.

###

Part of being a spy involved paying attention to details. With one look in a room, James could discern a dozen different important bits of information, often vital to whether people were going to live or die. A shady looking man on a side stool, concealing a holster gun, the known criminal residing in the other end of the room, the shotgun hidden beneath the counter that the attendant glanced to, as soon as he steps in. In the limousine with Q, while memorizing the information, he was also able to discern the speed limit, the… (green of Q's eyes)… the route taken-

Yes, the route taken.

"Next please." The woman in the small check-in booth before him called out.

James knew the driver Barney well, even had a few drinks with him after his wife died. This driver went left instead of right from Regent Street. At the time, James had sensed something wrong. Not until now, did it compute.

Barney always traveled the same route. The quickest route to the airport from HQ.

James turned and rushed back out of the airport, taking out from his pocket a pair of headphones. He put them on and pressed a button on the side, connecting him instantly to HQ.

"Change of plan." He said.

"What are you doing, Bond? Why aren't you getting on that plane?" Mallory's gruff voice sounded.

"I need to track the limousine that brought me to the airport."

"Why on earth would you want to do that?"

"Because Barney isn't driving it. Whoever it is has Q."

He spied a motorcycle, parked a few metres away. The leathered rider stood talking to another man, a few metres beyond that.

"I'm going after them." He calmly moved over to the motorcycle.

Tbc…


	4. Chapter 4

AN- thanks to all who have read and reviewed! Sorry for the delay of this chapter. I've been away. Next one up soon!

James turned the corner wide, into the path of an oncoming bus. He tilted the motorcycle to the left and swerved out of the way, with milliseconds to spare.

"I need more." He said.

"We're working on it." The voice in his earphone replied.

"Well work faster!" He raced tight around another corner. The driver of a Porsche slammed on the brakes and sounded the horn as he once more barely avoided a fatal accident.

"We're almost there. We're just not as fast as Q in-"

"Don't argue with me just tell me where the damned car is!"

"Got it! They switched. Corner of Spencer and King. New number plate. It's going to take us a moment to find it."

James shook his head. Spencer and King meant doubling back. He spun the motorcycle around on the spot and went up the other way.

###

Time had taken on a disturbing abstract quality. He had attempted to count the seconds and minutes since his capture, but the terror of the situation kept overwhelming his rationality. To Q, it felt as though they'd been driving around in the limousine for days, months, years... If he had his gadgets and computers with him, then he would have felt more in control, more able to plan… to at least think. Q had never wanted to be a field agent. The idea of constant potential death didn't appeal to him.

Finally, the vehicle stopped. Silva continued to stare at him, as he had the entire trip, in a cold, predatory way that made him want to curl into himself.

No, potential death… or any harm indeed simply didn't appeal to him.

The back door beside him opened.

"Get out!" The man was burley with a blocky, bulldog kind of face. Q wondered what happened to the poor limousine driver.

Realizing he had no choice, Q stepped out of the car.

They appeared to be in the driveway of a ramshackle cabin. Green fields extending in all directions indicated that they were out of London.

He felt the sharp prod of a gun in his back and moved forward, into the cabin. Inside, leaning against the simple, rustic wooden furniture were three other men, all cradling semi-automatics. The sound of the door slamming behind him made him jump. The men laughed.

"Ok, pretty. Strip."

Q looked beseechingly at Silva.

Please, not here. Not in front of everyone.

Silva stepped over him and drew back his fist. Q put his hand up to protect his face, then felt agonized pain in his stomach as the impact landed there, driving him to his knees.

"I'm not going to ask twice." Silva said.

Q stood up, closing his mind to the laughter and jeers of the men. As he took off his scarf and coat, he thought about pride. He'd heard other men say that they'd rather die than be forced by another man. The reality was simply not true. Self-preservation overtook self-righteousness. He felt his face heat, as he undid the buttons to his shirt.

"Good, good." Silva said.

Q shrugged the shirt off. He was not sure why Silva would be interested in such a scrawny, pale body.

It's not about attraction, he told himself. It's about humiliation, control. Power.

He bent down and undid his shoe laces, then took off his shoes and socks (noting dimly that one of the socks had a small hole in it), then stood up again, refusing to look up, to see the men looking at him, laughing at him, cruelly jibing about his body, about what they were going to do to him. His hands shook, as they went to his trousers. It took a few seconds to get the zip down.

"That's it, pretty. All of it." Silva whispered.

He felt tears run down his face, as he took off his trousers, then boxers. He stood up straight again, covering his genitals with his hands. He noted, dimly that the floor was dotted with red.

A hand reached up to stroke his cheek. He jolted away.

"You're very pretty indeed." He felt fingers cup his chin, forcing his head up to look into Silva's cold eyes. Silva's face moved forward. Without considering the implications, he turned his face to the side, then shuddered as he felt Silva's tongue swipe along his cheek. "Not on the mouth?" A soft kiss landed on his ear. "Like a proper whore, then."

The men broke up into laughter. Q shuddered once more. This time, more out of anger than fear.

"Come with me."

I have no choice, Q thought, as he followed Silva down a short hall to a room at the end. Inside was a rickety old bed with an obvious stained mattress and wooden barred headboard, and a scarred, oak bedside table.

"Get on the bed." Silva waved the gun.

No choice.

Q had to physically force his feet to move. He lay down on the lumpy mattress and looked up to Silva, feeling his breath quicken, unable to hide the now flowing tears.

"Good, good." He flinched as Silva trailed a hand up his inner thigh.

"Hands over your head." Silva climbed onto the bed, knelt over Q's knees and took a pair of handcuffs out of his pocket. Initial terror gave way to a flash of hope. Surely Silva could not hold the gun and handcuffs at the same time.

"I'll do what you want." He said, putting his hands up over his head. Silva put the gun down on the bedside table and reached for Q's hands. Taking advantage of the one chance he had, Q curled his fingers inwards, rested his thumb against his index finger and slammed his palm as hard as he could into Silva's neck, slamming his would-be rapist's head back with such force it knocked him out. As he started to fall forward, Q instantly moved out of the way. He grabbed the gun off the bedside table and cuffs out of Silva's hands, quickly cuffing him to the headboard.

For a moment, he held the gun on his would-be-rapist. His hand shook slightly. Still, he could do it.

No. He was not that kind of agent. Let the man go to trial, be publicly humiliated. Death was too easy.

Although Silva hadn't succeeded in violating him, a part of him realized there would still be some emotional trauma associated with what had happened. But, for now, he was still running on adrenaline, still amped up to really feel the consequences of his attack.

Besides, there were still the other men to deal with. Content that Silva was still out; he crept stealthily to the door. Loud voices sounded at the front of the house. Treading as lightly as carefully, he walked to the end of the hall. Two of the men faced away from him. None of the others directly faced him. He steadily closed the door, took out the gun and aimed, then realized the problem. It was palm printed, as James Bond's was. He wouldn't be able to fire it, anyway. A great, crushing disappointment overtook him. Within seconds, these men would discover him and would-

Three quick shots rang out, followed by a small burst of machine gun fire, and then followed by a fourth shot. Then silence.

His heart now hammered so wildly in his chest, it felt as though it was about to burst out. Q took a deep breath and risked looking out from behind the door, holding the gun out.

James Bond stood in the centre of four dead bodies.

"Bond." He came out from behind the door.

Bond took in his nakedness with clear fury written on his features.

"It's Silva. He's alive."

Bond gave no obvious surprise to the resurrection of his nemesis.

"Where is he now?"

"Handcuffed to a bed at the end of the room."

"Right." Bond went to move past him.

"Don't kill him. He's not going anywhere."

Bond stopped and looked at him, eyes decidedly icy with fury.

"Please… I need to… change before the cavalry comes in." The weak joke did not work. He moved to his clothes and started to redress himself.

"He didn't… he didn't rape me." Q said, as he put his underwear and trousers back on. "He tried to… but I managed to fight him off. That's why he's handcuffed in the other room."

"Son of a bitch." Bond muttered under his breath, then moved swiftly down the hall.

Tbc…


	5. Chapter 5

AN- sorry for the long delay in posting. I've been on holiday the past few weeks. Thanks to all who've reviewed and read.

James refused to consider the irony that if Q were the one tracing the limousine, he would have reached the cabin a lot sooner. He could just make out said vehicle a few hundred metres in, right before the front window. Discarding the motorcycle behind the chain link fence that bordered the far right end of the property, James cautiously moved a wide circle around to the back. Then, using the foliage as cover, he crept his way forward. No one covered the back entrance. James wondered what kind of imbeciles were running this operation. He moved swiftly around the side of the house. No sound could be heard from inside. A man stood on the front verandah, cradling a semi-automatic and smoking a cigarette. James took him out with a bullet to the forehead. He then risked moving to the window and, taking into consideration any derivation the glass would cause to the bullet, fired through it. This one took a second man in the throat. The two other men in the room turned swiftly towards him, weapons raised. He fired once more, taking a third one in the neck also, and then ducked below the window, just in time to hear the rattle of the fourth's machine gun. Good weapon, James thought, but it only lasts for about ten seconds tops before you have to reload. Sure enough, as he put his head up, the man was already reaching into his pocket for the second clip. His brain splattered against the wall. James kicked the door in, skirting his gun around the room. The 'gunfight' lasted about one minute.

"Bond."

A figure came out from behind the centre door, leading down a hall to a room in the back. The hand that held the gun shook. Q appeared to be, on surface, uninjured. His nakedness, however, was rather alarming.

"It's Silva. He's alive."

Somehow, these words did not surprise James.

"Where is he now?"

"Handcuffed to a bed in the other room."

As James moved past him, Q made an odd gesture. He reached out to stop him.

"Please don't kill him. He's not going anywhere. Please… I need to… change before the cavalry comes in."

James numbly watched Q move to pick up the clothes piled in the centre of the room. The implication was too sickening for James to contemplate.

As though reading his mind, Q said ""He didn't… he didn't rape me. He tried to… but I managed to fight him off. That's why he's handcuffed in the other room."

James felt a rush of fury tear through him. That son of a bitch! He threw open the door leading to the hall and stormed down it.

"Silva is alive." A voice suddenly sounded in his earpiece. It was Mallory. "Don't kill him. We need him."

James ignored Mallory and threw open the end door. Handcuffed to a bed to the back of the room, as Q predicted, lay Silva. James swallowed down a wad of intermingled regret and fury at the sight.

"Surprise! You know, you're a terrible assassin. You should have your 00's removed."

Mallory be damned. James raised his weapon.

"He's infiltrated the system at HQ and put a virus through it. The entire bloody things scrambled. If Q can't fix it, then we need Silva." Through his earpiece, Mallory spoke again.

"Now, that's not fair, shooting a tied up man. I would think better of you, Bond." Silva grinned.

"Why come back? You succeeded. M is dead."

"Perhaps she wasn't my only target." The grin stayed, as though frozen on his face.

"You had your fun." For a moment, Bond thought Silva was talking to him. But then Q moved beside him. "But you shouldn't have hurt me. I was going to be gentle. Next time, I'll take you till you bleed, till you need surgery. Then I'll pass you around to my men. Bond, you can watch. I'm sure you'll be more than excited to see the pretty boy here fucked to within an inch of his life." Silva laughed.

Bond walked up to him and stuck the gun against his chin.

"Bond no!" Q said.

"You even look at him and any torture you suffered will be nothing compared to me, this gun, and five minutes in a room alone with you."

"Now that does sound devilish." Silva flirted.

James considered simply shooting him dead right then and there.

The distant sound of helicopter blades decided Silva's fate.

"It would be too easy. This time, you won't escape." Bond could no longer bear to look at the man. He turned and strode out of the room.

###

Though it was only a short helicopter ride back to HQ, to James it seemed an eternity. Before boarding, he deliberately put Q in the second helicopter, determined to keep him away from the madman. Happily, the agents aboard Bond's helicopter were also trained in medicine. Saying they weren't taking any chances, they injected Silva with an anesthetic to knock him out.

Even with Silva lying unconscious behind him, the roof to MI6 was a welcome sight. The helicopter landed and the other agents hurried Silva away. Mallory ordered James and Q to his office. The route took them past Q's work area. Dozens of men tapped on the various computer consoles, with obvious anxiety. The cause of the chaos was clear. Rather than showing the various workings of the organization, the main computer screen, to the centre of the room, showed a cartoon version of a laughing monkey. On the bottom flashed the words 'Think on your sins MI6'.

Q swore under his breath and went to move forward.

"Q, Bond!" Mallory's voice rang out from the other side of the room. "In here, please."

###

As the door to Mallory's office closed behind them, Q exhibited the same fidgety nervousness that Bond noted when he was outside talking to Kincaide.

"With all respect, I need to be out there. Only I can fix this problem!"

Mallory responded by moving to the dresser to the side of the room, and taking out a bottle of whiskey.

"I don't think that is a good idea." He said, as he poured two glasses.

James took the alcohol without a word. Q waved it away.

"I think Silva wants you to come out and try and delete the virus." Mallory said, as James gulped down the whiskey. It burnt down his throat in exactly the right way.

"I'm tired of playing it exactly the way this man wants. He obviously has a plan. And it involves you two. Well, I'm not going to give him what he wants. That is why I'm proposing that you both get out of town for a few days."

James and Q both let out vehement protests. Mallory put a hand up to cease them.

"Neither of you are at your best. You're stressed, tired… Q, you suffered a great trauma tonight."

The young man flinched at these words.

"You are to go out of town… Q make sure you can't be traced. I'll be in contact."

Q opened his mouth, as though to make another protest, but then shut it again.

"Now, I should like to speak to Bond alone."

Looking clearly disgruntled, Q walked out of the room and closed the door.

"You were first there. He says he wasn't assaulted. Do you believe him?"

Bond's mind went back to when he first entered the house, to the naked, shivering man before him.

"I think he's telling the truth…. In so much as he wasn't raped. But Silva may have done… other things."

Mallory's lips curled up on disgust. "Take care of him."

Bond slammed the glass down on the table. "You don't need to worry about that."

###

Hail pelted the ground so hard, it was as though the Thames had inverted itself and was now dropping directly from the sky. A lone figure stood by one of MI6's motorcycles. As James came closer, he recognized Q.

Before James could ask why he was standing in the middle of the pouring rain, Q spoke.

"I already took out the tracker."

"Good, good." James climbed onto the motorcycle and threw a helmet towards the other man. "Hop on."

A swift look of distaste overcame the pretty face. Clearly realizing he had no choice, he put on the helmet and climbed on behind James, tenderly putting his arms around his waist. As soon as James started the engine, the arms tightened, with a force that belied Q's slim frame.

Although they'd destroyed the tracker, James couldn't be certain that they weren't being followed. To shake any potential pursuers, he doubled, then tripled, and then quadrupled back. With a final conviction that no one could possibly follow them after that, he sped off out of London.

It took a few hours out to arrive at the destination he had in mind. Neither spoke in this time, though he did note the gradual loosening of the arms around his waist. The warm body pressed up behind him felt strangely sating.

They pulled up outside a simple brick house, fronted by a small colourful garden. Q jumped off the motorcycle before him. Both moved up a winding pebble path to the front door.

The occupant opened the front door within seconds of James ringing the bell.

"Well, well," Kincaide grinned, "I was wondering when I'd see you again."

Tbc…


	6. Chapter 6

Q looked around the minimal rustic interior of the small lounge room. The furniture was not new, yet somehow the simplicity and character that the faded antiquities provided, gave warmth to his now numbed insides, that his own, very modern house, with all of its trappings, could not provide.

"You two are soaked! I would expect you'd want a shower." Kincaide said, as he closed the front door behind himself.

Yes, yes, Q very much desired a shower. He could still feel Silva's hands on him. Nothing would please him more than washing, no, scouring, the taint of that sick pervert from his still numbed body.

James shrugged and collapsed into the nearest armchair, idly picking up a book on top of the coffee table nearby and flicking through it.

"That would be great." Q said.

"Follow me." Kincaide said. He led Q down a short hall. The bathroom was the second on the right. "I'll get you a towel and some clean nightclothes." He paused. "Mine will probably be too big for you but it's better than nothing."

Q murmured thanks then locked the bathroom door. The room was tiny. A shallow tub pushed up perpendicular to a small sink, both a disgusting orange colour. Q put the plug in the bath and turned on the tap, then started to undress. His harassment from Silva and his men still permeated his mind. He recalled boarding the helicopter afterwards, the awkward looks on the medic's face.

"We would like to do a rape kit."

Q had felt his stomach clench, his throat go dry. "I... I wasn't raped."

"We have it… on authority that some… sexual harassment occurred-"

"The answer is no! I wasn't touched."

Q climbed into the bath, allowing the soothing water to pass over him.

Not raped…

Yet, why did he still feel violated? He had escaped a most horrendous fate. It was close. Too close for his comfort.

Sharp rapping on the door startled him.

"Er… it's me. Kincaide. I've left the towel and a change of clothes outside."

Q picked up the soap by the edge of the bath and started to voraciously scrub himself down with it.

You'll be fine, he told himself. You'll be all right.

He stayed in there, until the water became too cold to be comfortable. Certainly, he could simply add more hot water, but there was James Bond to think of. Q climbed out of the tub and unlocked the door, quickly drying and dressing himself.

"In there long enough." James grunted, when he made his way back into the lounge room.

"Sorry."

James shrugged then disappeared down the hall. Q stood awkwardly before Kincaide a moment, before sitting down in the lounge chair James had just vacated.

"James told me what happened." Kincaide took out a poker and started tending to the fire.

"What exactly did he say?"

"That Silva is alive. He kidnapped you to bring James to him. Silva is in custody, for now."

"Oh… yes, M told us to hide out for a bit. Silva will undoubtedly be coming after us."

Kincaide put down the poker and sat down in the chair opposite Q. "Unfortunate that James didn't properly finish him off when he had the chance. From what I saw, he is a most detestable man."

Q almost laughed aloud at that. Detestable was rather a shallow word, when it came to the deranged madman.

"You are alright? He didn't hurt you, did he?"

Q viciously shook his head.

_Hurt me? No, he wanted to. He told me he was going to have sex with me. Made me strip, almost succeeded in…_

Unexpected tears pricked at the edges of his eyelids.

_Damn it, damn it._

He wiped at his face, as the tears spilt down his cheeks.

"No, he didn't hurt me."

Kincaide leant forward. His voice was gentle, kind. "He threatened you, didn't he?"

Q paused, then nodded.

"Sometimes, even escaping a terrible fate can be rather traumatic."

Q looked up. He saw nothing but kindness and gentility in the warm eyes.

"He told me he was going to have sex with me. Almost succeeded but I… I managed to get the upper hand and knocked him out."

For a moment, Kincaide did not hide the look of disgust that overtook his features.

"He tried to rape you!"

For the words to be said so bluntly. Q wiped another stray tear from his cheek. Damn him, what was wrong with him? Why couldn't he have control over his own damned emotions?

"That sick bastard!" Kincaide said.

"I'm ok. I'll be alright."

"Well, you'll be safe here. I guarantee it."

Q nodded, unable to look the man in the eye. He felt his cheeks warm at the man seeing his open display of emotion.

"I'm tired. If it's alright, I'd like to get some sleep."

"Sure! Ah, there's a spare room in the back." Kincaide stood up and bade Q to follow him.

"You two didn't give me much notice…" He opened the door to a single bed, in the centre of a junk laden room.

To Q, the bed looked to be the most inviting thing he'd laid eyes on since they upgraded the computer system in HQ.

"Looks fine to me."

After closing the door and climbing under the covers, Q expected to lie awake, the horror of the day circling over and over in his mind. Instead, as soon as he lay his head on the pillow, his thoughts broke up into the surreal images that signaled dreamtime was taking over.

###

As the waking world came to focus, the clutter of boxes overflowing with various household items looked utterly unfamiliar. Q sat up, taking a few moments to realise where he was.

He climbed out of bed, the too loose pajamas slipping down his hips. Q lifted them and tied the string tighter. Once opening the door, the tantalizing smell of pancakes forced him to venture down the hall to the kitchen. Here, he came cross a rather astonishing sight.

James Bond, standing by a stove, a fry pan in hand, flipping pancakes.

"Did you sleep alright?" He indicated the kitchen counter, where a plate of already cooked pancakes beckoned, with a couple of plates and cutlery alongside, along with a bottle of maple syrup.

"I slept fine." Q took one of the proffered plates and piled a couple of pancakes on top, smothering them in maple syrup. "You?"

"I have a bit of a stiff neck from the couch. Would have been better to have a bed but I'll be alright."

For a moment, they caught eyes. Q looked away and picked up a knife and fork, bringing his pancakes to the dining table opposite.

"Where's Kincaide?" He asked, as he started to dig into his food. They were a little thinner than he usually liked, but otherwise they were quite good.

"Gone outside to collect the eggs from the barn. He offered to make us scrambled eggs for breakfast. I just couldn't get over my hankering for pancakes."

"Hm…" Q swallowed his mouthful. "You have to admit, this is rather odd, us sitting having breakfast together."

"Well, I'm cooking, not sitting with you."

"Even odder." Q looked up and smirked at him. "Not bad at all. I wouldn't be too upset if you wished to make all the dinners."

"Well, you can make yourself useful. When you've finished there, you might want to take a look at Kincaide's computer. It has a virus on it."

Q shrugged. "No problem."

###

It only took a few minutes to wipe the virus from Kincaide's computer.

"Should be fine now." He wasn't going to admit to himself that he had felt a surge of pride, upon seeing the old man's relieved face.

"Thank you! I haven't been able to use that computer for months!"

"Well-"

James suddenly rushed into the room, mobile phone in hand.

"It's M." He pressed he loudspeaker and placed the phone on the computer desk.

"There has been a terrorist attack in Shanghai." M spoke from within the small earpiece.

Q frowned and clicked on the Internet explorer icon on Kincaide's computer, typing 'bbcnews' into the browser. The front page's headline read '10 Dead, Dozens Injured in Terrorist Attack in Shanghai'.

"Five of the deceased have been identified as being ones who tortured Silva." M continued

All three men looked to each other.

"Hold fast, men. Hold fast." The line went dead.

"We need to leave, now." James said.

Q looked down at Kincaide's borrowed clothes. He had not had the time to dress, from the night before.

"But-"

"Let's go." Kincaide started to follow James out of the house. "We'll use my car."

"Someone tell me what's going on!" Q trailed behind them.

James didn't even look back, as he got into the car. "Hold fast is a code. This place is compromised. Silva knows where we are."

Tbc…


End file.
